


Sock to the Jaw

by HannaVictoria



Series: Beyond the Edges of the Map [3]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:58:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5480747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaVictoria/pseuds/HannaVictoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To your parents you will always be a child. But what if they really do think you are? Oswald wanted things he couldn't have from his son too and perhaps it was no less unfair. Repairing the relationship with his father will be a war of inches and unfortunately that doesn't even begin to be Dagur's only problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sock to the Jaw

A sock to the jaw. Was he fighting someone? ‘Suppose I am now.’ The world came into focus. He was in the old sparing arena against Vorg’s cousin no less. Neither made any sense the arena was torn down while he was in prison and Frode if he was remembering correctly, the man should have been patrolling the waters near Dragon’s Edge. Another blow came which even in his confusion Dagur dodged. He twisted and spun in a counterattack he had to have done a million times and yet he nearly fell over. More confusing his own blows weren’t falling with as much force as they should have. ‘As much as I love a good fight something is very off’ He swept his legs out from under him ending the round. Frode seemed a bit surprised when Dagur made to help him up.  
It was only then Dagur really looked at himself or even Frode. The man was far younger than he remembered. ‘And my arms, they might as well be sticks. Near as bad as Hiccup’s were.’ As he shifted his head a familiar weight on his skull suddenly registered in his mind. To the utter confusion of everyone present Dagur paled ghost white, walked from the floor, removed his helmet as if he were afraid it might bite him, and then stared at it like he’d had a terror on his head the whole time and only just realized. Later Vorg informed Oswald that Dagur had “Put his helmet gently on the table than turned and ran like the Skrill was after him”   
Between the main bedroom and the one Dagur had used when his father was alive there had once been a full-length mirror hidden away in an alcove. It had been moved since, but then it had been just as long since he’d seen the image it presented him. ‘Was I ever this small? This short?’ He remembered vaguely having to look up at his lieutenants when he’d begun his first “war” ‘Childish skirmishes with a force that refused to kill their opponents.’ He looked himself over, all the scars that weren’t where they should have been. Hard earned lessons of his own foolishness on and off the battlefield. Now they were all gone.   
He ran down his hand down his braid once then twice. He stopped part way down, took out his dagger and cut. Leaving it now neither the braid from his misspent youth nor the short mess it’d been when he’d hurt poor Heather so, but the unbound in-between it’d become during the war with Drago. ‘That man is still in the world and here I am fussing in front of a mirror.’ He frowned and left the house. Running for the outskirts he gave a simple dragon call as soon as he cleared the village. A flock of terrors responded and it suddenly occurred to him that he had no dragon treats on him. “Sorry little guys, I haven’t got…” one terror jumped to perch on his too skinny arms “Heathen? Heathen!” To Dagur’s delight a light of recognition danced in the little dragon’s eyes.   
‘Whatever is going on I might as well find out if I’m alone or not.’ It took some doing, he hadn’t carried paper or anything to write with as a teen and he’d needed to find some more terrors. Eventually he’d managed to send a letter to all of the tribes, his sister, Valka, and Trader Johan. Of course the problem was by simply sending terror mail you outed yourself immediately as a dragon trainer. Not something easily explained at this point in time and certainly not if you had a reputation for being Mad! Since he couldn’t very well sign his name the trick was to phrase each letter in a way that people who knew what he knew would be able to understand both the body of the message and who it was from without giving away things he shouldn’t. He was deranged not an idiot. Now he just had to hope the plan worked.   
‘On to the bigger problem.’ He walked back to his house. It was late enough and he was almost certain from half-heard conversations what awaited him. His Father. “Dagur? You going to be sick, son?” it took a few seconds before he could shake his head “Did you do something?” his jaw clenched at the older man’s accusation. Now that he was older he could see his father’s good intentions and concern, but it still brought up very sour memories. “I had a dream. A nightmare really, but it didn’t start out that way.” His father looked at him strangely. “I killed you.” Oswald was alarmed, but it wasn’t in Dagur’s nature to lie. He could, but being so different from others he had long ago decided that if he didn’t tell people what he thought and felt there would be far too much room to misunderstand. So he was honest often even when it was imprudent “And at first I was happy or at the very least convinced myself I was. Did things my way and that ended up about how you’d imagine. Scratch that, I did not literally burn Berserk to the ground.” He was only partially joking. His father seemed to be taking this all very well, then again he likely just thought of this as Dagur being Dagur: worrying but normal.  
“You know perfectly well my love of the old ways.” A love his father did not share “I have considered challenging you. You probably guessed that a long time ago?” Oswald said nothing, but it was obvious that yes he had. “But perhaps we could do with some new ways too.” ‘Like dragon training. I’m sure you’ll love that.’ He had no idea what his father would do with that. If he knew it was Hiccup’s idea he might go for it. One thing they did have in common was a love of Hiccup. “So everyday I’m going to come up with a new reason not to kill you and add it to the pile.” He grew serious and somber and for the first time that night Oswald was genuinely unnerved. Dagur did not do somber. “I know you love peace and you might think I love war. First I would like to clarify: I love fighting. Big difference.”   
Dagur moved to the big window looking out on much of Berserk “There are some people who do father. You can’t reason with everyone. Case in point my not killing you. You just got lucky. The Armada needs to be built back up to old peacetime standards. I can do it and no doubt you’ll want a great deal of oversight.” It wasn’t a question. To his father he was a warmonger still. That would not change overnight. Oswald held his tongue he would resist anything that could be attributed to aggression tooth and nail as always. ‘Never mind that he’d likely already convinced himself this little display is an end run around to gain control of the army.’ He’d endure it. For Heather’s happiness, for Hiccup’s unflagging faith in him, for himself even, he’d endure it.

**Author's Note:**

> From the moment I heard of Oswald I began to wonder what kind of man he might have been. Almost immediately I began to draw parallels between he and Stoick. He is a symbol of Dagur's homicidal tendencies rather than a character and that's a terrible shame. While the show implies just a smidge that Dag may have gotten bored and axed his dad to death at random, I've always thought it more likely a sort of 'duel of succession' kind of deal. You know since Dagur is kind of like a really unbalanced Klingon.


End file.
